


Now I Know

by Cassidy_OMalley



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Retired domestic fluff, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:24:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9634559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassidy_OMalley/pseuds/Cassidy_OMalley
Summary: Based off prompt from @Skygem Speaks onAnd last is Yuuri Nikiforov-Katsuki. Besides having the best last name, he's 27, adorable and Japanese. I wasn't surprised to hear he'd spent time in Detroit before, his English while maybe not native was pretty darn near fluent. But he still has moments of the soft r and rolling l common in non-native speakers.Here's another thing I know. I hate deja vu. Because I swear I've seen Yuuri somewhere before. But Yuuri is pretty private and kind of quiet so I don't bring it up.Anyway, I also know you don't care about any of that. You're here to hear about the day I finally figured it out.And by “figured” I mean, the answer drove through my front door with a horn blaring la cucaracha and, in no uncertain terms, announced itself.





	

I know a lot of things.

For example, I know that children scare me.

Which is why I am the only person in my developmental psych class _not_ becoming an educator.

      But that's ok. My little linguistic heart is full to bursting at my group assignment. See, we are studying family dynamics and we've been assigned to groups of five and I've plenty to work with. Marie is a recent transfer from Ontario. She is 37 with twin boys and the _softest_ French-Canadian brush on her vowels. Mark is a Detroit boy, born and bred. He's the youngest of the bunch at 24 and has aspirations of being an Oxford professor (bless him). Then there's Randy. On second thought, forget Randy. Randy's an asshole. There's me; I'm 31 and boring (moving on). And last is Yuuri Nikiforov-Katsuki. Besides having the _best_ last name, he's 27, adorable and Japanese. I wasn't surprised to hear he'd spent time in Detroit before, his English while maybe not native was pretty darn near fluent. But he still has moments of the soft _r_ and rolling _l_ common in non-native speakers.

Here's another thing I know. I **hate** deja vu. Because I _swear_ I've seen Yuuri somewhere before. But Yuuri is pretty private and kind of quiet so I don't bring it up.

Anyway, I also know you don't care about any of that. You're here to hear about the day I finally figured it out.

And by “figured” I mean, the answer drove through my front door with a horn blaring _la cucaracha_ and, in no uncertain terms, announced itself.

We, the five of us, were all sitting around a Starbucks table discussing the weekly group assignment. It was a nice day and we'd gotten a table by the window so we could sit in the sun and watch the cars drive by to distract ourselves while Randy talked (maybe that last part was just me).

“She's such an amazing woman. She's a RN with a little boy. I'm just so glad to be able to help her out..”

    Now, I should explain. Randy is one of those people who believes he's God’s gift to both sexes. He has a new SO every week and they are all “amazing people” who are always in need of his macho man assistance. He tried to pick up everyone in our group at least once. In fact, he still tries (even Marie who has a wedding band and is giddy about her family). Yuuri is the one I feel the most sorry for as he continues to be Randy's primary target, for obvious reasons. Yuuri with his wide eyes behind his blue-rimmed glasses. Yuuri in his big, always comfy but always lokey fashionable sweaters. Yuuri with the patience of **Job.** Yuuri who...is getting stared at right now. And not by Randy.

      At the table further back in the room there are three teenage girls. Yuuri has his back to them so he can't see the way they are staring at him. Like, they aren't even trying to be subtle. They are giggling and nudging each other like they are trying to draw straws for who is going to get up and come over to our table. It's kinda cute actually and I can't blame them. As I already mentioned, he's adorable and his hair actually looks combed today instead of the stylishly messy look he usually sports (Randy calls it “sex hair” behind his back).

I've noticed how Yuuri particularly benefits from a little confidence boost so I interrupt Randy to say, “Yuuri, don't turn around but you've got admirers.”

Sweet child almost jumps. “What?” He says in surprise and, not surprisingly, turns around to look (why do we even tell people not to look, like really?).

      Well, that does it for the girls at the table. One of them stage-whispers _I told you it was him!_ and suddenly they are all standing up and shuffling nervously towards us. They come to stand awkwardly at the head of our table and are nudging each other in the universal _no, you talk first_ kind of way before Yuuri does something I would never have expected.

He flashes these girls an absolutely _blinding_ smile and offers sweetly, “Autographs?”

It's only then that I notice they've all got notepads or pieces of paper in their hands and are now blushing and nodding so fast I'm afraid they might break their necks.

“Of course!” Yuuri continues, sounding like the angel I swear he is as he extends his hands for the paper and pens.

       That smile, which would convince a tsunami to take a breath and chill, sets the girls at ease. So much so that once all the papers are signed the girls start pulling out their phones and asking for pictures with him. Again, Yuuri agrees and 10 minutes later all three girls have enough pictures to blow up the internet for years (their words) but I for one still have _no idea_ what's going on. The girls are all talking now but it's loud and on top of each other and full of squealing and gushing so that I can't follow it at all.

So after 50 or so camera flashes and repeated words of gratitude, the girls turn to leave. But before taking off one of them adds, “Please let Viktor know we’re looking forward to Yuratchka’s upcoming season! A-and make sure Yuratchka knows he's got plenty of angels here in Detroit! Oh! And tell Viktor that he's my inspiration and he's just _gorgeous_ and--bye!”

“I will, I promise.” Yuuri assures. And just like that the girls are gone. Leaving behind a group of four gaping fishes and one quiet Yuuri. Well, I say quiet but if I look closer I can see his hands gripping the hem of his sweater underneath the table trembling slightly. There's also a slight tension in his shoulders like while he wasn't surprised by the attention, he still wasn't completely comfortable with it. “I'm sorry, what did we decide our topic was?”

Yeah, no. No way we going back to talking about Maslow’s hierarchy of needs now. I'm not quite sure where to start with my questions but clearly Randy isn't.

“Who’s Viktor?” It was probably the “gorgeous” that got his attention.

And Yuuri actually looks _confused_ as he starts to reply, “My--”

“Never mind that, why did those girls want your autograph?” Mark interrupted. “Are you a famous jewel thief or something?”

It was clearly a joke but Yuuri suddenly looks embarrassed. “I’m…uh….a retired professional figure skater?”

“Really?” Marie chirps in excitedly. “Did you ever make it to...oh, the-the big one, the, sorry I don't know the sport very well...oh! The Grand Prix?”

Yuuri _blushes_ and says in a way like he might as well get it over with now _,_ “Yes, I did. I went five times in my career and I received two silvers and two golds then…uh…two golds in Worlds….and maybe a silver in Pyeongchang?”  


We can do nothing but stare in shock. But somewhere in the back of my brain, I know it makes sense. Yuuri is built like an athlete. Even with his comfy sweaters you can't deny the way he moves that speak of strong, toned muscle and a knowledge of his body that give him an inbred grace.

“So is Yuratchka a skater too?” Marie asks.

“Mm-hmm! Yuri Plisetsky. Nicknamed the “Ice Tiger of Russia” he’s a favorite to win the next Grand Prix and he's also the one-time short program record holder.” Yuuri is grinning now, looking way too proud for this to be just an acquaintance.

“So is Yuri short for Yuratchka?” Mark pulls a face at the thought.

“No, no. His name is Yuri but _Yuratchka_ is a sort of...nickname in Russian? Like something a family member or friend would call him. But I think his fans, who call themselves Yuri’s Angels, have taken to using it as well.” Yuuri explains with an amused sort of expression and there's something that makes me wonder if this other Yuri isn't the type to **not** take nicknames well.

“Are you two friends? I bet that can get confusing.” I wonder aloud.

“It does.” Yuuri chuckles softly. “My sister gave him the name Yurio to make it easier and Yakov--Yakov was his first coach--calls him Yura, which is the Russian version of his name. But he complains when we call him anything other than Yuri.”

Score one for me.

“But back to my question. Who is Vik--”

“So is Viktor his new coach?” I interrupt Randy because there is something about hearing the two names together that rings a bell in my head (I still don't know what exactly, maybe something I read somewhere).

“He is!” The skater is beaming again. “Yakov retired this year and so Viktor went to help Yurio pack so he can move his home rink here for the next few months.”

“They're coming here? Do you think it would be possible to meet them?” Marie pipes in cheerfully.

“Of course.” Yuuri smiles but he's got that confused look on his face again. Like there's something someone (and I'm not sure if it's him or us) aren't getting. “Viktor’s been asking to meet you anyway.  They should be back by the end of this week.”

So us. Definitely us. There is definitely a crucial piece of information that we aren't getting.

Yuuri must realize this as well because he continues, “Um, you do know Viktor is--”

“Would you look at _that_?” Mark interrupts again (really, it's becoming a habit). But once I see what got his attention I can't blame him.

Pulling up into the _one_ empty parking spot in front of the Starbucks is a 1975 Eldorado Cadillac. A **baby pink convertible** Eldorado Cadillac. And if that wasn't eye grabbing enough, the driver...oh, my heart the _driver._

Is _gorgeous._

     He's probably about my age with platinum hair that looks more like polished silver in the sunlight. As he turns the car off and gets out he gives everyone in view of the window a look at his what I know are designer jeans and tan trench coat which show off his long, lean body to perfection. He catches us staring (we _are_ directly in front of the window and I don't have to turn and look at the rest of the table to know I'm not the only one enjoying the view) and flashes us the biggest, warmest smile I've ever seen. It does nice things to my heart but I can't help but notice that his eyes seem to be focused on something in particular. Some _one_ in particular.

“ _Sumimasen.”_  Comes the hasty mumble as reserved, collected Yuuri is up and off like a shot. I turn to watch his progress towards the front door and am surprised he manages not to trip over anything because as he runs, his eyes never leave the driver’s face. I catch the driver out of the corner of my eye and find that he is moving too, almost a mirror image to Yuuri in his quest towards the door. The driver, with his longer legs, makes it there first and waits just outside the glass door with his arms spread open wide. Two seconds later private, quiet Yuuri has _thrown_ himself into those arms and buried his face as deep as humanly possible into the driver’s shoulder.

“Now what is this?” Randy asks, sounding almost personally offended. But I can't object when he gets up to follow Yuuri's path towards the door because the three of us silently fall in line behind him.

   

      By the time we get there the two are still locked in each other's arms but they have pulled back enough so that they are nose to nose and talking animatedly. I can't understand what they are saying at first but then I realize they are speaking Japanese. The driver's words are a little slower compared to Yuuri's and the pronunciation is _a hair_ different giving him away as a non-native speaker but Yuuri seems to be following along just fine.

“Oi! You two are blocking the door! Stop being disgusting and get back in the car!” I turn towards the new voice and realize belatedly that there is a passenger in the pink car. He's probably about 18-19 with a blond bob half pulled back into a ponytail and a perpetual scowl on his face. He has a noticeable accent, something guttural yet lilting.

     And now, as if all the worlds answers have just been laid bare in front of me, I _know_.  I know who the passenger is. I know by the way he is looking at the other two, with an annoyance only born from years of familiarity. I know by the scowl on his face. It isn't mean like his voice would suggest. It is grudging acceptance hidden under irritation because he is too stubborn to be seen doing anything but; like a kid who loves but is embarrassed by his parents.

      

       I know who the driver is. I know by the way that even though Yuuri has turned back to look at us, he still keeps one arm around the other man’s waist. I know by the adoring expression on the driver's face as he looks down at the top of Yuuri's head, one arm still tight around his shoulders. I know by the driver's shirt peeking out from the open trench coat. It is a simple navy v-neck t-shirt, cheaper than any of the other pieces of clothing. It clings snugly, with the hem barely long enough to reach the top of his belt, like it is a size too small.

I _know_ what we have been missing. I should have known all along. The way Yuuri will sometimes smile at his phone. The way he hums the same tune under his breath when he thinks. The way his hair has been combed the last few times I've seen him. His clothes, while never sloppy, have been put together with just _a hair_ less flair than usual. I know it now with it literally staring me in the face. And I know one more thing: I have never felt more stupid in my life.

 _“Gom--_ Sorry! Yes, yes sorry. This is my group from my developmental psychology class.” With his face glowing like Christmas had just come early, Yuuri proceeds to introduce us one by one to the two newcomers before turning motioning to the teenager still sitting shotgun in the pink convertible.

“And this is Yurio--”

“That is **not** my name, katsudon!” The blond passenger interjects.

“ _Gomen, gomen._ This is Yuri Plisetsky, the Ice Tiger of Russia.” Yuuri motions towards the boy with slightly more ceremony than is probably required.

We all acknowledge the newcomer in some form (waves, smiles, “Hi” or some combination thereof) and are given a “Yo” coupled with a salute-like nod from the skater in return.

“And this is Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov,” Yuuri continues addressing the driver, “My husband.”

“Hi!” The man in question practically _sings_ as he waves at us, looking for all the world like he'd just been given the best compliment in the history of compliments.

“YOU’RE MARRIED!?!?!?!?” Randy practically shrieks.

Yuuri looks down at the gold band on the ring finger of his right hand as if to make sure it is still there. “Yes?” he says, holding up said hand and wiggling said fingers.  


“I thought that was just a fashion statement!” Randy continues.  


“I wish.” Yuri-Yurio grumbles. “I thought they were nauseating enough before but after getting married, I swear they just got _worse._ You'd think after two years the honeymoon phase would wear off.”

“One day, Yura, you will understand.” Viktor sighs dramatically and brings his free hand over his heart. “My wish is only that you have half my good luck.”

“Ugh!” Yuri-Yurio groans, just as dramatically. “You see what I have to put up with?”

“I think it was wearing it on your right hand that threw us off.” Any shock at the days turn of events is nowhere present on Marie's sweet face.

“Oh, right. It's just in Russia it is tradition to wear on the right hand.” Yuuri clarifies.

“Yes, not many people know of this.” Viktor agrees but there is something downright teasing in his tone. “It would take foresight and great care to know to propose marriage to a Russian in front of a church choir on a snowy evening would require to place the ring on the right hand--”

“Eh!” It's not really a word so much as a sound Yuuri makes as he frantically waves his hand to stop the other from saying more. “You are never going to let me live that down, are you? Besides they don't want to hear about that!”

“Yes, we do!” Marie and I echo together.

“No, you don't!” Yuri-Yurio corrects. “Trust me.”

“Anyway,” Viktor overrides the teenager with obvious practice and accepts Yuuri's darkened cheeks with a tender kiss on the one most convenient to his lips. “You are finished for today, yes? How would you all like to come back to our house? Yurio and I haven't eaten and I am still going through my Yuuri and Stammi withdrawal and I need get my fix **right** **noooow**.”

After another groan from Yuri-Yurio (“It has been one week, old man!”), a surprisingly quick debate about transport, and a game of musical chairs where we somehow managed to get all seven of us and our bags into a convertible which is clearly not meant for that, we are off.

On the short ride to our destination I learn a few more things that day.

 

1\. Stammi is Yuuri and Viktor's two year old poodle. They got him from a local rescue after Viktor’s own poodle died of old age. There is also some kind of significance about his name. Something to do with an Italian aria which I'll have to google later.

 

  
2\. Viktor apparently has no problems driving with Yuuri basically sitting _on his lap_ . 

 

3\. I'm going to have to buy more toothpaste on the way home because I swear just being around those two is given me cavities.

 

4\. Oh, and Yuuri's husband is not only hot with an adorable Russian accent and fantastic taste in cars, he might also be the most decorated athlete in figure skating history.

 

 

**Just more things I know.**

**Author's Note:**

> I really had no intention of writing this. Honestly. But one day I was reaching for the ipad before and before I even knew what was happening it was half over. 
> 
> Can couples who want to hyphen their name switch the order? Like you want to keep your original as the second so it's at the end? I just did it. '
> 
> Here's a few of my own domestic Victuuri HC I incorporated into here. 
> 
> 1\. Viktor retired at 29 at which time he had won an additional gold at Grand Prix, silver at Worlds, and reclaimed his SP world record from Yuri. 
> 
> 2\. Viktor owns and loves that pink car. Fight me on this. 
> 
> 3\. Viktor and Yuuri own a central closet. Like at first they had their stuff divided like normal people but they just kept stealing each others jackets/shirts so much that now there's just 1 closet space which Viktor stocks 90% of.
> 
> 4\. The primary reason Viktor is in charge of stocking the closet is because he likes fashion and he likes dressing Yuuri. Like in a caring way. Yuuri is the kind of person I see not really caring about fashion. Like as long as he is clean, neat, and seasonally appropriate I can't see him putting much more effect into it. Viktor we know has a good eye for fashion. I can see him buying things and putting together outfits specifically to make Yuuri look his best (This color will go with his skin tone, this suit cut will show off his waistline, these are the best jeans for his body type...etc.). Yuuri secretly likes this.
> 
> Comments encouraged!


End file.
